An important instruction in the ways of sufferings and purifications, and of surrender to the pure love.

The Fortieth Letter.

An important instruction in the ways of sufferings and purifications, and of surrender to the pure love.

In Christ Jesus, the Crucified and Exalted, much-beloved fellow-sister!

For some days now I have felt myself pressed to write you something concerning your present state of soul. And although I find myself so dark and empty that I see nothing to say to you, yet my mind will not be satisfied until I have done it: therefore I will simply follow the impulse, hoping that God will give me something that may serve for some strengthening and blessing to you in your suffering.

You may believe for certain that I bear more care for the progress of your soul in true sanctification than I can express or let outwardly appear; nevertheless, however wretched you may picture yourself and your condition to me, I am for all that quite calm about it, and without fear of an evil outcome. Were I to care for you after a human manner, and gladly see your own life preserved, then indeed I might grow anxious, because our Lord presses so mightily and hard upon it, and drives it so into the strait that it will soon have to give up the ghost — which happens, and will happen, through the complete and eternal surrender of your very self into the free hands of God.

You see and feel nothing but sin and corruption in yourself and in your doing. Wherever the mind turns and casts its eyes, everywhere is misery, wretchedness, and sin, and the way to turn away from it is shut, and seems as though it must stay shut forever. Ah! thinks the subtle self-love, could I but find some little corner where I might retire, to find a little rest — just like a drowsy person who tosses this way and that and cannot come to rest. Hear, O soul! let all your turning and twisting simply stand still. The more you want to make it better, the more you spoil it; the more you want to work yourself, to do something good, the more faults you commit. It is over with all self-working.

You think you accomplish nothing good; but you had better say: I do not see that I accomplish anything good. For it is not enough for subtle self-love that it practise virtues; rather this left hand also wants to know and see what the right does, in order to take pleasure in it. But God, who wills to slay our own life and to have our virtues pure and unmixed, does not allow the soul to be able to reflect upon this, or to inspect its virtues beforehand or afterward: one sees only the impurity.

Since, then, it now pleases God to see you so wretched, corrupt, and impotent, so let it please you too! Now you see yourself just as you are in yourself: therefore thank God that He uncovers the harm that was in you. The gold is now in the refining, the dross comes to the surface; yea, the gold is covered over, one sees nothing but filth. So rejoice then over it, dear sister! that you are so wretched, and that God is so holy and perfect. The misery and the nothing is our right place; and the holiness and the all is God's place. Whoever still likes to see himself fair and holy, only reveals his self-love — at least it would be for you now a fault and an imperfection: therefore just resolve, with Job, to remain sitting quietly on the dunghill of your miseries, and to love God. Your miseries, I say, you shall love, but not your sins. Say to God, in the very greatest feeling of your corruptions: Lord! I will nevertheless not sin. Lord! I will nevertheless remain wholly Thine; I surrender my soul to Thee for time and eternity: come what may, only let me love and glorify Thee! And when you already think you have sinned, or have even actually erred, then just say the same thing over again.

The vexation, impatience, bitterness, and anger that stir especially in you do not surprise me. Before, when the leading of grace over you was so lovely and easy, then nature and sensuality still got a little bit along with it now and then (so to speak): but on this way all nourishment, outward and inward, is withdrawn from them; nature and the senses cannot possibly resign themselves to this total deprivation; they are to die, and yet will not; they often do not know what to do for vexation; they would gladly murmur against themselves, against everyone, yea sometimes even against the holy ways of God — just like a dog that is struck with a stone, and bites back at the stone. If you feel this, or something like it, in yourself, dear sister, then look upon nature just as such an evil beast, and say to yourself: Let it perish, this malicious thing, with all its rage. What is that to me? Struggle as long as you will, you rebellious nature, you shall die nonetheless and be brought to nought — and then let it lie there, without taking its raving upon yourself. Compose yourself withal in the utmost possible patience; do not break out too much in words, when it is at all possible for you to hold yourself in; do not at once give room to all sorts of doubtful wishing — such as, namely, that you wish to die, and the like.

Sometimes it comes into your mind: it could not be borne any longer thus; you would have to give it up and turn back again to the world; you are surely lost forever anyway. But bethink yourself once, dear sister: have you not in former times, many a time and from the heart, given yourself over to God and His leading? Have you not often, in sincerity, begged of Him that He would thoroughly cleanse you from all your corruptions and perfectly sanctify you, by such means and ways as He might see good? Have you not often, and from the heart, vowed to Him to remain faithful to Him, by His help, until death? What! have you then so utterly forgotten all this? Now that God has heard your prayer, and touches you where it hurts you — now you want to give up courage and turn back? Is that keeping your word? But no! you are no longer your own, you have given yourself to the Lord, and He has taken you; you have nothing more to dispose of over yourself. Certainly! God will not let His own be so taken from Him.

But you will object: I feel nothing but corruption, sin, and inability; I stand at every moment in danger of falling and sinning; yea, it seems to me I really do sin: the longer I live so, the more I heap up my sins. That you really would sin, I do not believe of you — namely, not with knowledge and will; for you do not love sin so much as that. The sight and the feeling of sin already makes you such bitter suffering; yea, this alone brings you so into the strait, that you see and feel, namely, nothing but sin in yourself; how then should you still want to practise it willingly? But that one, in hard ways of purification, must feel so vividly and powerfully those very same corruptions one formerly cherished and committed with delight — so that one thinks nothing other than that one really is practising them; yea, at last, that this or that corruption may even now and then break out unawares and against one's will — such a thing is contrary neither to experience nor to Holy Scripture, which says: That wherewith a man sins, by the same shall he also be punished. Book of Wisdom 11:16. Romans 8:3. Perhaps you also know the little rhyme I made long ago upon this matter.

Ah! yield yourself to God; so good and true is He; Your sin's own poison He Himself takes for a remedy: But whoso covers up his sin with such a plea of grace, Let him know: the draught tastes sour and bitter in that case.

And yet another:

In former days I did the sin with will and with delight. Now must I bear it as a load, and suffer it despite; This suffering betters me, 'tis true: yet O the bitter pain! When sin, by sin, must be condemned and put to death within.

But that you think you fall into sin at every moment arises partly from the darkness in which you now walk, which causes all manner of doubt, fear, and terror; for one always thinks one sees all manner of danger, and yet often there is nothing to it. Shut your eyes, and walk in faith and in surrender, and the fear will vanish. And when the light breaks again, you will say that you walked rightly. Partly this fear also springs from the withdrawal of all felt strength and support. It is with you as with a little child that is always afraid of falling, while the mother yet holds it fast from behind by the leading-string, without the child knowing it; but the moment it would not stumble or fall, at once it would become aware of the holding hand of its mother. No, dear child! there is no distress; the mother is near, though not before your eyes. The more you fear, the sooner you stumble; and if you should be about to fall, you would become aware of I know not what within you, that would draw you away from it, or else so direct everything from without that it would not happen. Rely on the holding hand of God, without seeing it, and on the leading-string of His divine Providence, whereby He will direct your outward and inward to a good end.

Surrender yourselves to God, and enter into the pure love, and you will be helped. Surrender yourselves wholly to God and His unbounded will, for time and eternity: let fall even all care for your very self, so that you would no longer look about after yourself, even if you knew that you would thus go into hell. What lies in your own self? What is there in the self worth minding? Consent to everything, sin excepted! If it comes before your mind that you are now, or would yet become, a mockery and abomination of all men and evil spirits — then let your will give itself over to it, and say: What is there in me worth minding? I will nevertheless glorify God; I will nevertheless love God. If it comes into your thoughts that your wretched condition will still keep growing worse; that it will last until death; and that you will surely be eternally damned — then consent to everything, and say: I will nevertheless not sin; I will nevertheless love and glorify God — what is there in me worth minding? And do just so in everything else that may come before the mind. In this way surrender leads into the pure love; and so your bitter and restless stirrings will be transformed into a soft and deep peace, and your distress into an immeasurable breadth and freedom of spirit.

Consider: God remains God; He is now just as loveworthy and praiseworthy as before, when I saw and tasted it. Ah! so love Him then even now just as much, and if possible even more than before! God has many thousands who praise Him in heaven and on earth; so let Him then have in you (who think yourself to be in hell) an example out of thousands who praise Him in hell. Those do it in the midst of light and in enjoyments; do you do it now in the midst of the darknesses, hanging with Jesus on the cross in inward and outward sufferings. O how fair, how pure, and how lovely is the praise of God out of the heart and mouth of a suffering soul! when, with Job, nothing goes out of her mouth but: Blessed be the name of the Lord! The Lord is good, the Lord is loveworthy! He alone is the fountain of life: Ah! that all creatures might know Him and serve Him! Love Him, all you devout ones, in time and eternity! O how good it is that God is God, that He is so holy, so glorious, so blessed, and so perfect as He is! and so forth.

If you have, beloved sister! in this state little or no felt enjoyment from it, the purer it is for that. If you have as yet no clear knowledge or light of God and His perfections, there is no harm in that. You can now love and praise God only as an Unknown, a Hidden, an Incomprehensible One, of whom you neither can nor need to make any image, as to what He is and where He is; and just so you do it in the most perfect and most God-becoming way.

You think: people would not know your condition; they would have a better opinion of you than is really the case. But such a thing is a little temptation, and a lack of simple faith. But I say to you: you yourself do not know your condition, and you have a worse opinion of yourself than is really the case. Yet it is also not needful that you should know much of yourself and your condition. It would be better that you and I should know ourselves no more at all: therefore judge not at all of yourself, for you are in the dark; but believe those of whom you know that they would not gladly flatter or deceive you, even though you may think you feel the opposite in yourself of what you are told.

I know in some measure, dear sister, what it is to perceive God's holiness and purity so powerfully, and to cherish also some inward and sincere longing after holiness, and yet with all that to see and feel nothing but sin and self-propriety in oneself. Ah! one would well wish to creep into the earth for very shame of oneself, and nature would well wish to do it before God, and learns a little of the distress of those who shall cry out: Ye mountains, fall on us; and ye hills, cover us before the face of God! and so forth.

I know in some measure what it is to know a God — to know Him as so glorious, so fair, so delighting and loveworthy — and yet not to be able to love and glorify Him, but (as it seems) only to dishonour Him, to offend Him, and to be contrary to Him; to have known this inwardly-delighting Being, and nevertheless to see oneself cast down so far, so far from Him and from the enjoyment of Him, into misery, wretchedness, and darkness; yea, to believe nothing other than that this shall continue so in eternity, and grow ever worse. Ah! the poor mind thinks: had you never known God and the good! Did you not know what a God, what a blessed Being He were, then perhaps you would not now have such distress and hell. Now you know in some measure what a God He is; now you long so inwardly after Him, and must yet remain parted from Him.

O Thou wonderful Wisdom of God! how lovely and how stern are Thy ways with Thine own! Thou dost lure them with loveliness to Thyself, and lettest them see Thy countenance; but soon, and before one has rightly seen and enjoyed Thee, Thou goest away and hidest Thyself with such severity; Thou woundest them with the arrows of Thy love, and then lettest them lie forsaken in the pain! Thou lettest them see heaven, and then castest them into hell. And yet Thou remainest Love, and wilt be loved by Thy bride, in hell as well as in paradise.

But I see that the letter is growing longer under my hand than I thought; therefore I will only give, briefly, a few needful reminders, to be observed especially at the time of prayer, or of withdrawal, and in the daily walk, and then close.

Concerning the time of withdrawal I have already often said my thoughts; when circumstances allow, do not neglect that time, be it because of your own awkwardness, or because of the disinclination of nature, or for the sake of other considerations and temptations. But do not stay too long alone at one time, unless God should give you some special grace or strengthening. Work little or not at all in prayer, for your working harms both body and mind. When you would, with the least exertion, gather or lift yourselves up, you will soon feel vexation, anxiety, and darkness. Although I have already said you should surrender yourselves to God, my meaning is not that this should happen through formed acts, or much inward activity and deliberation; but I mean to say: you should forget your very selves as far as possible, not with your will reflect upon your state and its circumstances, let fall all care for your own selves, and then leave your very selves too to God, and let your little ship sink; and just this too is an excellent kind of prayer for you.

But it is now not good for you, if in prayer, in an anxious way, you would seek God as an object of contemplation, be it by much lifting-up or by much interior recollection. Remain, as far as you are able, peaceful, glad, and cheerful in the present moment. Remain as you are, and unite yourselves with God as with something you need not first seek, but that is already there; for God is surely with you and in you, though covered with darknesses. Ah! could I but impart to you, in and out of prayer, a peaceful, expanded heart! how serviceable it would be to you!

When something unexpectedly announces itself amid the work and among people, that reminds you to be still — even though it be quite hidden and without unction — then follow, in childlike simplicity, at that very moment, when circumstances allow; or let the work drop for a moment; you will experience the benefit of it — it is the moment of God.

In your daily walk, strive ever more to go along without deliberations, in simplicity and innocence, like a simple child. Do not think ahead, and do not look back; both bring disquiet, and are contrary to your present state. The present moment must become your dwelling; therein one finds God alone and His will. Generally speaking, you will almost never go wrong, when in outward things you set about the work just as it presents itself to you in the present moment. If you think ahead or back, you are already in disquiet and doubt, and no longer know what God's will is. Make yourselves no scruples over the works of obedience, when the thing is not in itself sin. All choice of one's own, however good it be, must yield to obedience.

Do not speak much with people without need. When possible, speak not at all, so long as the passion of anger or of vexation is strongly in motion. Speak little or not at all of your sufferings toward others: let it be enough for you that the Lord your God sees you suffer; yea, He looks on at you. Meanwhile it is yet a little temptation, if you should altogether shun the company of the children, or even not visit me, under whatever pretext it be. We are all wretched ones and sinners in ourselves, and bound to bear one another's burden. You should now visit me no less than you have otherwise done, and conceal nothing that might in any measure serve to make your condition known to me — namely, when it comes into your thoughts. You cause me no trouble; nor have I on your account any disquieting sufferings; but if you could be helped through my sufferings, I would, under God's help, certainly not withdraw from them.

Let us become children, and in no part reflect so much! Had I wanted to make deliberations, I would certainly not have written you this, and would otherwise altogether be silent and hide myself, because of the great poverty, misery, and blindness in which I find myself. Yet I trust that this writing will be to you neither unpleasant nor harmful. Only be, dear sister! in God's name patient and comforted in suffering and loving, and I will, go how it may, by God's grace be and remain

Your

Mülheim, 17 August 1728.

in Jesus heartily devoted fellow-brother and fellow-partaker of the sufferings that are in Christ.

P. S. Keep this letter to yourself alone, because it might perhaps be of little use to others for the present.

German

Der 40te Brief.

Wichtiger Unterricht in den Wegen der Leiden und Läuterungen, und Ueberlassung an die reine Liebe.

In Christo JEsu, dem Gekreuzigten und Erhöheten, vielgeliebte Mit-Schwester!

Ich habe mich schon seit einigen Tagen gedrungen gefunden, etwas an euch zu schreiben, über euren gegenwärtigen Seelen-Zustand. Und ob ich mich wohl so dunkel und leer befinde, daß ich nichts sehe, was ich euch sagen soll; so will sich doch mein Gemüth nicht eher zufrieden geben …

— Opening lines of the original German. The complete transcription of all 605 letters appears in the forthcoming Encounter Press critical edition; Brief 1 is shown in full as a sample.

German text: public domain (1773–75 first edition / 1845 Gesammelte Schriften).